by Brenda Hiatt
A short time later he hurried down to the drawing room and found Xena already there, clad in a gown of silver-gray that matched her eyes and exposed just enough of her décolletage to tantalize without being the least bit improper. The smile she gave him was a shade less welcoming than he’d expected, however.
“Apologies if I have kept you waiting,” he hastened to say. “I apparently needed that nap more than I realized.”
Her expression warmed, though her eyes still held a certain wariness. “I’m certain you did. It would be well for you to get as much sleep as possible, as that is sure to speed your healing.”
“Are we expected somewhere after all?” He glanced pointedly at her gown, which he was almost certain could not be secondhand. “After what you said at breakfast, I rather thought—”
“No, we have no engagement elsewhere. I wrote to cancel and trust my phrasing will spread the impression I intended.” Did she color slightly, or did he imagine that?
Either way, Harry’s blood quickened. “I’m glad to hear it. Dare I hope that means you wish to continue where we left off earlier?”
“Of course,” she agreed with surprising coolness. “That is why I sent round to invite Lord Peter, Sarah and Sarah’s brother to join us for dinner. There is still much I need to learn about your activities as Saint of Seven Dials if I am to effectively assist you.”
Harry felt as though she’d dashed cold water on his ardor. “I, er, had something rather different in mind.”
“Ah. Well. Perhaps we will have time for that later.” She did not quite meet his eye.
“Xena.” He reached out to trace a finger along the curve of her shoulder where it was bare above her gown. “I—”
The front door knocker sounded from below just then and she sprang up with nervous energy, moving away from his touch. “Ah! Our guests are here.”
The meal was a far cry from the intimate dinner of verbal foreplay Harry had envisioned. Instead of trading flirtatious banter with him over the various courses, Xena took every opportunity when the servants were out of earshot to ply Flute and Sarah with questions.
“I had no idea the numbers requiring assistance were so great,” she said to Flute at one point. “Do you really know the inhabitants of London’s slums well enough to be certain only the most deserving receive whatever the Saint—Harry—gives you?”
Quickly swallowing a mouthful of roast potatoes, the lad nodded. “Aye, mum. I lived among ‘em most of my life and word gets around who’s in real need of a helping hand and who’s just looking to buy more gin—or worse.”
“And there are other boys who help you?”
“A few, aye. Some more trusty than others. I know you’ve had Tig doing a few things on the side for you, guv,” he added to Harry, “but he’s a talker, he is. Never means any harm, ‘o course, but when he gets to boasting there’s no knowing what he might say no matter who’s listening. You’ll want to be careful there, I’m thinking.”
Recalling something Xena said last night, Harry realized Flute was likely right. He’d not like word to get about that he was having his own wife followed.
When Xena and Sarah rose to leave the gentlemen to their brandy, Flute asked if he might go out to the mews to visit his friend Renny, who’d been hired by Lord Marcus to work in the stables. Sarah and Peter both assented, which left Harry and Peter alone in the dining room with the decanter.
Harry poured his friend a generous measure and a much smaller one for himself, as he was still disinclined to over-imbibe after that disastrous outing. Peter noticed at once.
“Must say, Harry, this experiment of mine seems to be working out even better than I envisioned. I salute you.” He raised his glass.
With a wry smile, Harry lifted his own. “Been waiting your chance to say ‘I told you so,’ haven’t you? Very well, say it. Can’t deny this idea of yours wasn’t quite so daft as I thought.”
Peter’s grin broadened. “Glad to hear you admit it, though the way you and your wife look at each other already told the tale. I didn’t suggest this course to torment you, you know. ’Twas in hopes you might finally find happiness. It gratifies me no end to see that occurring.”
“I’d be happier still if Xena would give up this start of helping the Saint. Should have known she’d insist, once she learned the truth, but I don’t like it.” There was also the matter of her mysterious lover—or whatever secret she was keeping—but Peter didn’t need to know that bit.
His friend nodded sympathetically. “Believe me, I understand how you feel. Why do you suppose I married Sarah so precipitately last month?”
“Because you were completely besotted?” Harry had teased him mercilessly about that at the time, but now…
Peter acknowledged the hit with a laugh. “I was, yes. I also wanted to get her away from that dragon of an aunt, Lady Mountheath. But the primary reason for my haste was to keep her safe once I discovered she was playing the Saint. It worked…eventually. Took a bit of effort to convince her I really had the means to support her, though.”
“That’s another thing.” Harry frowned, for it was an issue that had begun preying on his mind. “I’m in no position to support a wife, even if I give up most of those pursuits you’ve deplored. Nor does Xena appear to have much beyond an impoverished estate. Wish now I’d let you continue investing what I got on cashing out instead of demanding it back so quickly. Maybe if the Saint manages another good haul, I’ll give some of it to you to manage for me as you’ve proved to have a rare ability there.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Er, yes, well, surely it’s time to let someone else take over as Saint, especially given you don’t want your wife helping you? I’m sure Flute can come up with a few ideas—”
“Aye, you’re probably right,” Harry agreed heavily. “But I owe Xena at least one adventure first, she wants it so badly.”
He hadn’t missed the eager sparkle in Xena’s gray eyes as she absorbed all the details Flute could give her over dinner. Watching her, he’d been reminded again and again of that enchanting nineteen-year-old girl with an insatiable thirst for adventure. He couldn’t just snatch that away from her, however much he hated to see her at risk.
“How if we ask Flute to find a relatively safe target for one final caper?” Peter suggested. “Perhaps that will satisfy her wish for a bit of excitement with minimal danger to either of you.”
“Very well. If Flute can find such a target sometime over the next week or so, I’ll let Xena come along as lookout.” Harry rather doubted Xena’s appetite for new and thrilling experiences would be so easily sated, but it was surely worth a try.
“I’ll speak with him tonight, then.” Peter took a judicious sip of brandy. “Once that’s settled, I suggest we sit down together to discuss the matter of your finances.”
* * *
It was near midnight when Lord Peter and the others left to return to Curzon Street, but Xena’s mind was so abuzz with all she’d learned, she doubted she would be able to sleep. The smile Harry turned on her once they were alone again in the drawing room told her at once that sleep was not precisely what he had in mind, either.
“Though I’m by no means resigned to you putting yourself at risk, I am happy you enjoyed yourself this evening.” He moved toward her with a compellingly seductive look in his eyes that made her heart accelerate.
“I did. Indeed, the prospect of participating in your adventures makes me exceedingly glad I did not return to Yorkshire the day after our first meeting in London, as I originally intended.”
He smiled, a smile that did nothing to calm her pulse. “I’m glad as well, though at first I also believed that would be best. Clearly, we were both mistaken.”
As he had earlier, he traced a finger from just behind her ear, down the side of her throat to her shoulder, sending a delicious shiver of anticipation along her spine.
“What I still don’t understand,” he murmured, “is why, when you clearly crave adventure ev
ery bit as much as you did when we first met, you buried yourself in Yorkshire for seven years.”
To answer that question, Xena would have to tell him about Theo—something she could not justify putting off any longer. Indeed, she should have done so before allowing this afternoon’s intimacy, even as caught up in passion as they’d both been. It suddenly seemed downright dishonorable to keep something so important from him while enjoying his caresses.
“I, ah, had rather a compelling reason, actually,” she said, seeking exactly the right words for such a revelation. “The same reason that finally brought me to London. You asked if I’d been seeing someone secretly, and I have. He…” Her voice caught in her throat. He is your son seemed too big, too shocking a statement to simply blurt out without warning.
Harry frowned at her hesitation, but now it was a curious, even understanding frown rather than an angry one. “He asked you to come? After convincing you to stay away before?”
“Not…precisely. It was my own choice to stay in Yorkshire, but he, ah…”
“Come, Xena, whatever it is, whoever he is, you can tell me. I promise not to react as I did before. I’m not drunk tonight. You were quite right that I’ve scarcely conducted myself as a married man all these years, when we both had reason to believe ourselves unattached. I’ve come to realize how unreasonable it was in me to expect such a young, beautiful woman to remain chaste when I…I’ve been anything but.”
“As I’ve been made repeatedly aware.” Reminded of those humiliating encounters, a touch of acid crept into her tone despite her resolve and Harry’s conciliatory attitude. “Most recently this very afternoon, by a Mrs. Orrin.”
Rather than look conscious, as she’d expected, he stared at her blankly. “Orrin? I don’t…”
“Plump, pretty, blonde. She claimed to have known you quite intimately, and not so long ago, either.”
“Orrin. Ah! Must’ve been Melisande. I vaguely recall she was engaged to that nodcock Orrin when we, er… Guess she married him after all when I wouldn’t come up to scratch—not that I gave her reason to think I would. But that was—”
“So many women ago that you’d forgotten?” Xena didn’t even attempt to hide her indignation. “You dallied with a betrothed women and then…forgot?”
Maddeningly, he shrugged. “We were only, er, together once or twice. And I didn’t know she was engaged until she offered to break it off for me. Told her it wasn’t necessary and stayed well away after that. The idea of spending a lifetime with such a shrew…” He shuddered. “Should have adhered to my rule of limiting my flirtations to married women. Much less inclined to cling.”
Belatedly noticing Xena’s horrified expression, he hurriedly attempted to backtrack. “There weren’t so very many, I assure you, and there won’t be any more now you’re back. But as I’ve confessed so much, will you not share your own indiscretions as well? Then we can start afresh, with everything out in the open.”
“But I…” No. She simply couldn’t bring herself to admit she’d never had a single lover other than Harry himself. Not now.
“Come, Xena,” he repeated, more seductively now. “I just told you I have no intention of straying again. Are you not willing to extend me the same courtesy?”
“Courtesy?” She nearly laughed at the inappropriateness of the word. “Very well. I also agree not to continue any dalliances going forward. However, I…I find myself quite fatigued. Good night, Harry.”
She hurried from the room before he could become yet more persuasive, knowing full well that if she stayed she would again join him in his bed. Nor could she resist the impulse to let him believe, at least briefly, that there had been others. It made things seem more…equal, somehow, despite Harry’s rather surprising promise.
At the door of her bedchamber, however, she hesitated, looking back over her shoulder. She’d been determined to tell Harry the truth about Theo tonight, had finally screwed up her courage to do so, but now felt far too agitated in her mind to attempt it. Surely tomorrow would do just as well?
Hearing Harry’s tread on the stairs behind her, Xena whisked into her chamber and softly closed the door behind her, still agonizing. Theo would need to be told as well, of course. Perhaps Yamini could advise her on how to inform both father and son gently? It was she, after all, who’d insisted all along they both be told…
Relieved by that thought, Xena vowed to meet with her old ayah at her very earliest opportunity, and to do whatever she suggested.
As it happened, that opportunity came far sooner than she expected. Over breakfast the very next morning, Harry announced that he would be going out for a few hours. “Jack wants me to help him try out his new pair of chestnuts, but I’ll be back well before dinner, I should think.”
As soon as Harry went upstairs to change, Xena penned a quick note to Yamini. Enclosing enough money for a hackney, she summoned a footman and bade him deliver it to Mrs. Henderson’s house on Rundel Street immediately.
When Harry took his leave some twenty minutes later, Xena pretended to be busy with other correspondence, as invitations had continued to arrive despite her excuses. After waiting long enough to be assured he’d be well out of sight of the house, she rang for her cloak.
* * *
Upon leaving the house for his fictitious appointment, Harry walked partway down the street. There, screened by the vine-covered railing of a nearby house, he watched the front door of the house he’d just left.
Denied the soporific he’d hoped for last night, he’d lain awake in bed for some time thinking over everything he and Xena had said to each other shortly before she’d gone upstairs…and cringing to think how he must now appear to her.
For a moment there, she’d seemed on the very point of revealing the name of her lover. He’d foolishly believed a casual confession of his own past sins might make her more willing to admit to her own—undoubtedly lesser—offenses. The effect had been quite the opposite, but now he was more determined than ever to discover, one way or another, who the man was.
In the course of his amorous pursuits over the past few years, Harry had faced more than one outraged husband across the field of honor. He’d seen those men as mere objects of pity—bloodless milksops unworthy of their lustier wives’ fidelity. Therefore, he’d invariably ducked and fired into the air rather than risk killing—or being killed.
Now, for the first time, he had a most unwelcome insight into how those husbands had perhaps felt.
Knowing Xena as he did, he suspected that now he’d extracted a promise of fidelity from her, she’d feel honor bound to break things off with her lover face to face. This was her opportunity to do just that—and Harry’s opportunity to discover exactly whose name she seemed so desirous of protecting.
“Mornin,’ guv!” piped a voice at his elbow. “Not to worry, I’m still on the job. Did you think I’d forgot?”
In truth, Harry had temporarily forgotten the assignment he’d given to Tig—an assignment he rather regretted now, as he very well might have been happier not knowing.
“Not at all. But I won’t be needing your services in this particular capacity any longer.”
“Planning to follow ‘er yourself today, are you?” The boy nodded with a wisdom that sat strangely on his young features. “Finally goin’ to have it out with ‘er? I didn’t even ’ave a chance to tell you ‘bout her last visit to Rundel Street two days since.”
Harry frowned down at the lad, recalling what Flute had said about his tendency to speak out of turn. “You’ve not mentioned those visits to anyone else, have you?” Two days since…the very day after she’d denied having an affair with Wellington?
“Nay, guv, nay. I know Flute thinks I can’t hold my tongue, but I can. ‘Specially when— Look, here she comes now! I’ll leave you to it, guv, shall I?”
Though Harry had hoped he was wrong, Xena was indeed emerging from the house, and with no maid in evidence. Harry nodded silently to Tig and motioned him in the opposite direction
, back toward Seven Dials. This was a task—and possible confrontation—he preferred to handle alone.
Looking quickly left and right, she put up the hood of her cloak and began walking quickly westward along Grosvenor Street—the opposite direction from Rundel Street. Nor would she be likely to go there on foot. Could he have been mistaken after all?
Harry was by now adept enough at moving inconspicuously that he had no difficulty following Xena without her perceiving him, staying as far behind her as possible without losing sight of her distinctive burgundy cloak. Though she occasionally glanced over her shoulder, he was quick to turn away to watch a passing carriage or peer down an alley.
When she turned down South Audley Street, he wondered if she merely meant to call upon Sarah, perhaps to ask more questions of Flute. He clung to that hope until she turned again, just before reaching Curzon Street, to head toward Hyde Park Corner…and Apsley House.
Despite her denial, it seemed his initial suspicion had been correct after all. A sick knot formed in his stomach, and not only because Xena had lied to him about Wellington.
At the park railing he stopped, watching her retreating back with a sense of defeat. While he’d been confident his skills could make her forget any other lover, he could never compete with all Wellington could offer her, both inside the bedroom and out. Status, riches… Swallowing, he started to turn back—then saw Xena pass through the Chesterfield Gate into Hyde Park itself, rather than continuing on to Apsley House.
Had she arranged to meet Wellington away from the house? Or—insidious hope—might she have some other purpose here entirely? Though he didn’t dare assume that, he was curious enough to resume shadowing her. Better to know the worst at once than cling to false hope.
By the time he reached the gate himself, Xena had moved well along the path leading to the Serpentine, a popular spot for families with children…and for lovers. At this season, however, there were few people near the river, making Xena easy to spot from even a furlong away. Positioning himself behind a conveniently placed shrubbery, Harry began scanning the area for Wellington’s distinctive form.
